


I'm miles from where you are (set me down in your warm arms)

by thewoundupbird



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewoundupbird/pseuds/thewoundupbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But the people I had been serving my whole life turned on me and stripped me of my duty, my position, my birthright.  I’m nothing now.  Just a vessel for the spirit of the Commander.  What happens to leaders when they have no one to lead?”</p><p>        “They become us.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm miles from where you are (set me down in your warm arms)

 

The first thing Clarke does after she has walked until her legs collapse underneath her is find a stream.  Letting out a pained gasp, she pulls her boots from her feet and soaks them in the cool water, resting her weight on her hands and tipping her head back to look at the sky.   She lets out a shuddering breath and cracks open her eyes.  The expanse of sky above her is so painfully blue and serene with tendrils of fluffy cloud snaking behind dark green trees.  It is the first time, Clarke realizes as she covers her eyes with a hand, that she feel nauseous looking at the sky.

She leans backwards on her elbows, feet kicking idly in the cool water and she contemplates what would happen if she died right then and there.  If an acid fog melted her body into a bloody pulp or if some animal came and killed her.  But Clarke Griffin does not want to know.  No matter how much she has fantasized about it on her trek through the woods. 

Because she lives so that her people don’t have to lose sleep at night and contemplate the taste of metal and the sticky feeling of blood on their hands. 

 

—————————- 

 

Clarke manages to drag herself the rest of the way to Mount Weather.  She collapses against a tree near the clearing, unable to tear her gaze away from the imposing door.  In another life she recalls desperately wanting to get into that place.  Now she wishes she could raze the mountain to the ground.  Shoot it over and over until it crumbles into rubble.  

With a sigh, she busies herself with starting a fire, trying to still her hands which are shaking from- _so so much blood_ \- exhaustion.  Clarke winces as she lays down on her side, face warming from the undulation of the small fire in front of her.  She idly wonders why she even bothered to come here.  

When she had left Bellamy behind she wandered without purpose.  She had tried to feel the burden of responsibility and betrayal roll off her shoulders with every heavy step she took.  

But she cannot escape it.  She became a leader for her people the moment she had picked up a gun and took the role she had needed to fill.  And she would be a leader for the 100 until the day she died.   But they didn’t need her like this when she was weak and vulnerable.  How could she lead them now? How could she help rebuild her people when she could barely look any of them in the eye? 

She couldn’t lead when she was so _weak._  

The thought makes her think of Lexa.  It’s like another one of her infuriatingly accurate lessons on leadership. _Would you be happy to know, Lexa, that I made the hard choice just like you did? I bathed in the blood of innocents and I came out a hero, too._   Her eyes catch on her studded glove and her jaw clenches.      

Tentatively, Clarke pulls off the jeweled glove still on her hand.  It gleams burgundy in the dim fire light.  She remembers how Lexa had handed it to her with a barely there smile before they broke camp for the journey to Mount Weather.  She remembers how when their fingers brushed, Clarke had swallowed audibly and Lexa had chuckled, leaving her without a word. 

Clarke tosses the bloody cloth into the fire without a second thought.

 

—————————-  

 

She camps in front of Mount Weather for a week.  Some days she gets as close as the door, other days she just watches from her tree.  Her people had gotten rid of the bodies as best as they could, piling them on top of each other and setting them on fire.  Jasper had been whimpering into his hands as the blaze had colored the fingers of dawn with a horrifying glow.  And Clarke had just stoically watched the Mountain Men turn into ash.

Nothing is left in the mountain but ghosts.  And yet Clarke wants to walk in the well-furnished halls.  She wants to run her fingers along the canvas of those priceless paintings.  She wants to see the faces of the dead with a smile and forget everything that happened.  

Clarke craves to one day wake up in that white room and not feel dried blood underneath her finger nails.

 

—————————-  

 

Her final offering to the Mountain Men is a bouquet of flowers that she neatly ties together with a scrap of her fraying shirt.  She gently puts it where all of the bodies had been burned.  

Slowly she kneels, hands resting on her thighs.

“I did what I had to for my people,” she says to the dead. “But I’m sorry that you died the way you did.” 

Clarke wishes that she could have killed them one by one with her own hands.  Every man, woman, and child bleeding with a gentle slice to the jugular.  If things had been different, she could have taken her own sense of responsibility and looked every person that she killed in the eye.  Then, maybe she would feel something more powerful, more emotional, than this numbing guilt in her chest.  Maybe if she had actively ended the lives of all those she had killed with a pull of the lever, she would see them as individuals and not results of an unfortunate fallout between two leaders at odds.

But instead Clarke has to just offer empty words to the trees and dirt and hope that the dead know that she died with them too.

 

 

—————————-

 

 

Clarke steals clothes from a small village a few days away from Mount Weather.  Thick pants, a leather long-sleeved shirt, and a ratty cloak with a hood. 

She finds a stream to wash in, heart pounding in her chest after escaping the angry villager she had stolen from. She settles in front of the water, hands cupped above the clear liquid. But then she catches sight of her face. As she stares at her reflection she barely recognizes the person who is staring back.  She quickly washes her face, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she sees stars.

 

 

—————————-  

 

She hears hoofbeats while she is carefully roasting a skewer of venison.  Her fingers itch for her gun at her belt as she listens.  Clarke can tell that it is a single rider, going at an incredibly slow pace.  She can see the silhouette of the horse trotting toward her.  But the rider is slumped forward in the saddle, face resting against the animal’s neck.  

Warily, she takes a step forward and a twig snaps under her foot.  The horse startles with a whinny and the rider slides to the ground with a thump.  Clarke swallows and tightens her grip on her gun as she hears a soft groan.  Her heart is pounding in her ears as she nudges the body with her foot, trying to get a better look at the person’s face.  

Suddenly she is pulled downward and flipped onto her back.  She reflexively presses her gun against a bloody forehead as she feels the bite of metal against her neck. 

But then she looks at the rider’s face and even though it is night and she can only see with the help of a small fire, she recognizes who it is instantly.  The effect it has on her is like ice sliding down her spine.

Lexa’s eyes are glazed in pain but it is obvious that she recognizes Clarke.  And for a moment they gaze at each other.  Clarke’s finger trembles on the trigger. She isn’t ready to see Lexa again.  A part of her wants her torn apart bloody but another part of her wants to angrily kiss her and whisper against her mouth _you know what i have felt and you understand me in a way that no one ever will._  

She feels Lexa’s grip on the blade falter and Clarke uses her hesitation to switch positions, shoving the knife from Lexa’s hand and shoving her onto her back.  Clarke shifts on Lexa’s hips, sitting back on her heels with the gun still aimed at her head.  Lexa studies her for a quiet moment before she relaxes, tipping her head back to expose her throat.

“Aim true, Clarke Kom Skaikru.  Have you not dreamed of this moment?”

“Of all the things you could say to me, _that_ is what you choose?”

Lexa just lets out a mirthless chuckle that turns into a labored cough.  Clarke studies the other girl, taking in the blood soaking her ragged clothes.

“What happened to you?” Clarke asks in barely concealed wonder.

Lexa just sighs and reaches forward, gently stilling Clarke’s shaking hand to aim right at her face.

“I paid the greatest price for my people’s lives.  At least in my shame there is mercy in a death by your hand.”

Clarke frowns at the words.

“Who says I’m going to kill you?”

Lexa’s lips twist.

“You don’t want to?”

Clarke stills at the question. She doesn’t know.  She hates that Lexa has such a strong effect on her.  When she thinks of the other girl her head aches and Clarke cannot reconcile her from the girl who had smiled at her with admiration and the warrior who had left her to die with blood on her face.  

And yet even with Lexa so perfectly prone like this she cannot find it in herself to pull the trigger.

“I’ve killed enough people for my lifetime, Lexa. I’m not going to add any more blood to my hands.”

Lexa sighs, her mouth twitching.

“Even though I betrayed you? Left you and your people for dead on that Mountain without a backward glance?”

Clarke’s jaw clenches.

“Why are you egging me on? Do you want me to kill you?”

Lexa opens her mouth to respond but suddenly her body shudders and the hand that had tightly gripped Clarke’s gun falls to the ground.  Clarke’s face contorts in confusion as she sees Lexa’s eyes flutter closed.

Then there is only silence.

“Lexa?”

No reply.

Clarke numbly slides off the other girl, dropping her gun and pressing two finger’s against Lexa’s neck.  The pulse is there but so frustratingly weak.  She huffs and mechanically stuffs her gun into her belt before dragging Lexa toward her camp fire.  The closer she gets to the light the more her hands tremble.

Lexa’s clothes are uncharacteristically ragged and dirty, soaked in blood from multiple wounds.  Clarke carefully lifts her shirt up and inspects one wound along her stomach.  Most likely all sword or knife wounds.

“What happened to you?” Clarke asks breathlessly, sitting on her ankles.  It’s obvious that Lexa has lost a lot of blood.  Even if she tries to give her medical attention with the limited supplies she has at her disposal, there is no guarantee that she will live.  Would it even be worth it to try to save her? 

But then green eyes slowly blink open.  A hand reaches out and a gentle thumb brushes Clarke’s cheek bone.  

“Clarke,” she whispers in a low rumble. “ _Clarke_.”  Without thinking, Clarke covers the hand with her own.  

“What on earth happened to you?” she asks again, tilting her head into the touch.

“The other tribes felt that I was an oath breaker who deserved to face the death by a thousand cuts,” Lexa pauses as she swallows painfully. “They tired of that after awhile though and felt it would be more dishonorable to have me banished in the wilderness to die.”

“They know you well,” murmurs Clarke, watching the way Lexa’s mouth twists.  

Carefully Clarke pulls Lexa’s hand from her cheek.  She stands and pulls a knife from her belt.  Lexa watches the action tiredly but says nothing until she sees Clarke using it to cut pieces of her cloak into strips.

“You won’t kill me?” Lexa asks incredulously.  “After everything that I did to you, you’re trying to heal me?”

Clarke grinds her teeth as she tightens her grip on her knife.  She glances up and glares at Lexa.

“Just because I’m going to save your life doesn’t mean I forgive you.  I will _never_ forget that after I told you that all I wanted was for my people to be safe, you turned your back on us and left us to die.”

Lexa nods slowly as if she understands.  And somewhere beneath all of Clarke’s bitterness and betrayal she knows that she does.

“Why don’t you rest? We can talk later.”

Clarke scoots closer to Lexa and is about to start treating the wounds when a slim hand grabs her wrist.  Tired green eyes focus on her and Clarke finds it difficult to say anything. 

“Even if I die here and you cannot save me… I’m glad that I got to see you again one last time.”

Clarke scoffs at the words, trying to tamp down on her nerves.

“Don’t talk like that, Lexa.  We’re both too stubborn and angry to let you die.”  

Lexa hums in response but keeps her hold on Clarke’s wrist for a few more seconds, eyes darting around her face.  And then the touch falls away and Clarke gets to work.

 

 

—————————- 

 

 

Lexa sleeps for two days straight, only waking up occasionally with feverish eyes and a parched mouth.  There were a few close calls during the first day when she had thought Lexa was going to die.  When the other girl’s face went ashen and she could barely drink a sip of water, Clarke had started to look around for a suitable place to start digging a grave. 

But then the other girl’s breathing had evened out and color slowly returned to her cheeks.  When Clarke felt Lexa’s condition had finally stabilized, she drags herself to a nearby stream.  She gazes at the blood covering her hands and for once she doesn't feel revulsion turn her stomach.  Saving at least one life can give her some sort of pardon for now.  She scrubs at her hands under the cold water until her fingers are numb.  

When she goes back to camp, she finds Lexa leaning against a tree, a fur blanket over her legs.  Her face is utterly devoid of emotion until Clarke walks into view.

“Clarke,” she murmurs quietly.  

“Lexa,” she answers back.

A barely there smile curls on Lexa’s lips but Clarke does not return it, instead roughly handing her a skin filled with fresh water.

“Drink. You may be past the most critical point but you need to stay hydrated.”

“Thank you.” Carefully she presses the skin to her mouth and drinks greedily.  Clarke sits down by the nearly dead fire, her chin resting on her knees.  

“Do you regret saving my life?” 

Clarke startles at the question.  Her tongue feels heavy when piercing green eyes pin her in place.  For a moment she is tempted to say something that will cause those eyes to look away in pain.  But instead she swallows bitter words in favor of the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Lexa makes a noncommittal sound and Clarke glances at her curiously.  But of course her face is so blank that it reveals nothing.  

“I’m not even sure if I’m happy that you saved my life, honestly.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow at the statement but keeps her mouth shut, waiting for more.

“What am I without the people I always serve, Clarke? I have been training to be _heda_ since I was six.  But the people I had been serving my whole life turned on me and stripped me of my duty, my position, my birthright.  I’m nothing now.  Just a vessel for the spirit of the Commander.  What happens to leaders when they have no one to lead?”

“They become us.”

Lexa chuckles darkly although her eyes gleam too brightly. 

“You will always be a leader of your people, Clarke.  You chose to leave the Sky People. If you chose to return they would welcome you back with joyful hearts and love.”

“Who could love me after what I’ve done, Lexa?” Clarke’s grip on her knees tightens as she stares stiffly at the fire in front of her.

“You did what you had to, Clarke.  No one begrudges you for it.  You saved your people.  You defeated the Mountain Men.”

Clarke shakes her head.

“We both did what we had to do for our people.  But look at us.”

Lexa chuckles darkly.  

“We are different yet the same.”

“I don’t forgive you, you know.”

Lexa shrugs a shoulder, not looking at Clarke.

“I know.”

“I’m not even sure I can let you touch me again.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not even sure I can-”

“Clarke.”  Those green eyes look so old and tired that she closes her mouth.

“I-I may not forgive you.  But I think I understand you.”

Lexa nods slowly.

“I wish you had never had to undergo such an experience in order to understand me.”

Clarke holds Lexa’s gaze for a long moment.

“We’ll just have to live with a lot of regrets then.”

They lapse into silence after that. Clarke may have lost her soul but Lexa lost her people.  Clarke mulls over who has lost more.  

 

 


End file.
